


Straight to You

by Yuliares



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Teleportation, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 23:05:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12641133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuliares/pseuds/Yuliares
Summary: You don’t have to do this, Adam had pleaded when Kris had told him he was leaving, joining the ranks of men and women to fight for what they’d always taken for granted, his eyes wide and scared like he already knew he’d lost.





	Straight to You

Adam leans forward over the sink, eyeliner in hand, the cool counter digging into his hip as he leans towards his reflection humming softly. It’s that or listen the high-pitched hum of cheap florescent light bulbs, and the steady  _drip-drip_ of the leaking shower. Besides, he’s starting to itch with the nervous energy he always gets before a show, dread and anticipation bubbling up under his skin, already lightly sweating in the heat of a hot summer night. Maybe he’ll swap out the jeans for leggings – a glance at his phone says he’s got forty minutes, he’s got time. The tip of the eyeliner drags and smears against the bottom of his eyelid.   
  
There’s just the slightest wrinkle in the corner of his eye – a brush of cold air against his ear – and then there’s a body, heavy and solid, suddenly slumping against his back.   
  
“Shit!” Adam yelps, almost stabbing his eye out with the eyeliner before he drops it to turn and grab Kris before he knocks his head against the counter.   
  
“Kris? Are you okay!?”   
  
_Don’t panic_ , Adam thinks though his voice has already gone all high and panicky.  _Stupid_. He should be used to this shit by now, used to Kris coming and going and just  _appearing_  like this… but he doesn’t think he can, that he ever will. The only thing worse than the heart attack he gets every time Kris is just suddenly  _there_  is the constant, aching paranoia that once he disappears, Kris won’t ever be there again.   
  
Heavy in his arms, Kris looks beyond exhausted, but he lifts a hand to clumsily pat at Adam’s shoulder and mumbles something reassuring sounding, and it doesn’t look like there are any wounds, so. There’s frost on Kris’ clothes, on top of the dust and dirt, and his fingers are fucking  _freezing_ , so Adam tucks Kris up against the heat of his chest and just holds him, rocking and humming, until the shivering stops.  
  
~  
  
Adam’s leaning forward over the counter, putting on makeup, and Kris has a giddy, hysterical moment to think,  _Surprise!_  before his legs give out and he face plants into Adam’s back and slides sideways.   
  
“Shit!” swears Adam, and there’s the sound of something falling and hitting the sink –  _like me_ , thinks Kris distantly. But Adam spins around and catches him before he smacks into the hard counter, and they slide down to the cool tile floor to slump against the counter in a tangled mess of awkward angles and splayed limbs.   
  
Kris’s head is wedged up against Adam’s chest and forearm, and his skin is hot and a little sweaty against his own cold cheek. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, heavy and fuzzy around the edges, but it puts together the shimmery silver of a shirt -  _only Adam could call something that small a shirt_ \- and myriad of necklaces and the concealer hiding the constellation of freckles across his cheek.  _Adam’s going somewhere_.   
  
Adam’s saying something, his voice high and worried, and his large hands are running all over his body, checking for wounds, but the nausea’s starting to kick in, so Kris just hauls up an arm to pat his chest reassuringly. The shirt feels like liquid beneath his numb fingers. He tries to mumble something too, something about Adam feeling him up that would make him smile, but his teeth are chattering too hard to really get anything out.   
  
But Adam gets a little less tense, and he tucks Kris farther against his chest, warm like a furnace, sandwiches Kris’ cold hands within his warm ones, and starts humming something soothing and familiar. Kris just closes his eye tiredly, and lets Adam’s warmth sink into him as he waits for the nausea to pass.   
  
~   
  
_It’s kinda like motion sickness,_ he’d tried to explain to Adam.  _Only instead of a long, miserable roll at 70 miles per hour, you’re going thousands of miles in a second, and the nausea is like your odometer, and it hits you when you land._  
  
~   
  
He wakes up in a bed –  _Adam’s bed_ , he thinks, because it smells like him, and that makes him want to burrow further into it and never come out. He pushes the covers back and sits up instead. The room is dark, but there’s a light on in the bathroom, and when he looks out the window, it’s bright with city lights. _It’s night here,_  he thinks, as his body’s inner clock scrambles to adjust. Kris wishes it would stop trying.   
  
It’s a pretty average hotel room, all in all. Queen bed, a small night table with a lamp and a glass of water that Kris drinks gratefully - his mouth feels dry and raw, like he was trying to eat sand. Adam strides out of the bathroom, shirt shimmering, and when his eyes fall on Kris, he breaks into a smile. It’s so open and unguarded and  _real_  - just like everything about Adam - and Kris is grinning back helplessly before his brain even catches up, thinking  _I fell in love with that smile._  
  
“Hey,” says Adam, and Kris scoots over as the bed dips beneath his weight.   
  
“Hey,” Kris replies, voice cracking a bit. It’s the first time he’s spoken in… two days? Maybe three? “Where are we?”   
  
“Phoenix, Arizona,” says Adam. “I’ve got a concert here…”   
“When do you need to leave?”   
Adam shifts his weight reluctantly. “In about 15 minutes. Mind if I paint my nails?”   
Kris just nods, and lets his head fall back against the headboard.   
  
There’s a rustle, and then the sharp chemical scent of nail polish fills his nose. With his eyes closed, it’s easy to go back in time, imagine things were like they used to be when they were roommates on American Idol. Even after the competition, they’d kept in touch, calling every day, and texting even more often. His fingers twitch, trying to grasp the memory of his phone, a pang of regret when he remembers it’s miles away in a dresser drawer with the batteries pulled out. He misses those short little notes, bright highlights to even the most monotonous day of meetings and negotiations, tired from a marathon of press and interviews – he used to know what Adam had for breakfast, what crazy stunts the band was pulling this week, lyric snippets of the songs Adam was working on. That was before everything changed, of course. But a phone was too dangerous to take while he was away on his missions, and… well, he was always on a mission these days.   
  
Even as he’s painting his nails, Adam’s eyes flick towards Kris periodically, checking to make sure he’s okay. Kris knows, because he watches him through his eyelashes. He barely twitches when Adam takes his hand, and paints a thin layer of color on the thumb, blows on it gently to help it dry. Adam’s breath is warm as it ghosts over Kris’ skin, and he smiles crookedly when Adam puts their hands together to complete the set, his own thumb nail plain and unpainted, just like when they were on tour.   
  
“I missed you,” Adam admits, and Kris can’t stand how sad and lonely he looks, so he pulls him into a tight hug so he can’t see the pain in those blue, blue eyes.   
  
“I missed you too,” Kris whispers against the crook of Adam’s neck, and they just stay there wrapped around each other until Adam’s phone goes off, and Tommy’s demanding to know if he’s ready to go yet.   
  
“I gotta get going,” Adam says apologetically after he hangs up. Kris just grins, and they fist bump when he says “Go kill it, rock star,”.   
  
After Adam leaves – reluctant and already running late, Kris calls Katy on the clunky corded phone next to alarm clock.  
  
~   
  
It’s a short call, but Kris is comforted by the familiar lilt of Katy’s voice as she asks how he’s doing, and promises to tell his parents he’s going okay. They didn’t talk much right after the divorce, but after everything they’d been through together it’d felt unnatural and he’d found himself missing her like a sharp pang to the gut. Even if they didn’t make it as a couple, they’d been best friends for years, and when they’d started talking again after three months they’d both been pretty relieved. Two years later, he still couldn’t believe what an amazing woman she was, how lucky they’d been.   
  
After she hangs up, Kris rummages through the little hotel fridge and is gratified to see that Adam has some leftover Thai takeout, with a pair of disposable chopsticks next to the crappy little coffee machine all hotels seem to have these days. When he opens it though, he sees that it hasn’t been eaten at all, and it’s his favorite.  _Adam_ , he thinks, imagining him ordering it on an impulse, or maybe habit. They used to order Thai and watch cheesy movies, bouncing on the hotel beds during the rushed insanity that was tour.   
  
There’s a lump in his throat, but he pushes past it with a mouthful of cold pad thai.   
  
~   
  
You don’t have to do this, Adam had pleaded when Kris had told him he was leaving, joining the ranks of men and women to fight for what they’d always taken for granted, his eyes wide and scared like he already knew he’d lost.   
  
_No_ , said Kris sadly. _I do. I really, really do_.   
  
Because Kris had a gift, and it wasn’t the one he’d won American Idol with.   
  
He left his guitar with Adam.   
  
~   
  
After he tosses the takeout carton in the trash, Kris takes a moment to prowl the room. It’s funny how Adam can take a completely anonymous room and make it so completely  _his_ , the bathroom counter filled with product and something black and spikey flung across the floor. Kris inhales deeply, filling his lungs with the lingering smell of nail polish and Adam’s cologne.   
  
_This is what I’m fighting to protect_ , he thinks. Outside, a scooter honks, and there’s the sound of someone laughing.  _This is worth it._    
  
He leaves a quick note on the bedside table, scribbled and short.   
  
_Katy says hi. Hope the show went well._  
  
I’ll be back soon.   
  
-K   
  
His finger rubs at his thumb, glossy and smooth.  _Almost done_ , he thinks, before he gathers himself to Jump.   
  
Someday, he thinks, he won’t have to keep leaving.


End file.
